


Vibrations

by pocketmouse



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-17
Updated: 2009-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketmouse/pseuds/pocketmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen eyed Tosh. "Don't come crying to me if you get space AIDS."</p><p>Tosh took another sip of the green liquor and sank back in her chair. "If I get space AIDS, it will have been worth it." Her eyes have a kind of dreamy expression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vibrations

Tosh has seen a few spaceships in her time, including a few working models, and she has to say, she's never been on one so _quiet_ before. There's not a sound, not even a hint of vibration of engines.

 _It is one of the things we prefer about space travel,_ one of the spiders says to her. The silence. They even speak telepathically, not creating a sound. She finds it fascinating. _Your world, all the noise it makes -- we will be glad to leave._

Tosh smiles at him, tracing her hand over the soft wall. The whole ship is apparently organic, making her think of a spider's web. She was surprised that she was able to help fix it, but so glad for the opportunity. _Thank you,_ she thinks, halting and still a bit uncomfortable with the concept. But these aliens -- they look so much like spiders, but are about half her size -- put her more at ease than Mary did, and the fact that Jack approves, invited them down, even, helps as well.

 _No, thank you,_ he replies, and for a moment Tosh catches a hint of something -- something else, and she can't help but blush. Surely... One of his legs reaches up to brush over her hand, soft and surprisingly warm. _I --_ She can sense the apology in his mind, and maybe she's getting better at this, or maybe she's been spending too much time with them, but she doesn't mind at all, and she tells him so, reaching out to stroke his thorax.

  


* * *

The whole room is soft, and she feels like she's sinking into it, the silky material caressing her bare skin. The spiders don't have mouths, not like her, the concept of kissing is alien to him, he seemed totally nonplussed when she tried to relate the concept to him, but his two forelegs trail over her face, her chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her stomach quivers as she breathes. _So strong,_ he thinks. _Oh, please..._ She moans a little, the sound slipping out.

His mouth trails across her skin -- tasting her, she realizes, little sparks flying everywhere -- and he nudges her legs open, stroking at her thighs and curling around them, holding her securely, and she feels amazing, surrounded like this, so much attention, she can feel him, his mind, everything, focused on _her_. She moans again, and the pleasure travels back and forth between them, like a plucked note, held, sustained in the air.

She's so wet, she can feel it, and he laps at it delicately, fascinated by the taste. His tongue flickers inside her and she gasps hard, rocking against him, and he reaches deeper, tongue moving rapidly, teasing against her, and she knows he _knows_ , she can feel it and she grinds down, trying to follow the sensation, even as he trails the soft fuzz of his legs against the underside of her breasts, so sensitive. He's stroking over her thighs and her stomach and licking at her clit, all at once, all different rhythms, and she can't keep it straight, is awash in sensation. She pinches her own nipples, hard, rolling them between her fingers, trying to find a focal point.

His legs on her hips shift down, spreading her further, until she can't rock like she wants to, raising her hips higher, smoothing over her bottom, kneading her muscles and making her melt, his mouth still working over her clit, a long, slow massage that's keeping her on the edge of coming, rolling like waves. She reaches out to him, both mind and body, and as she strokes him, he gives over at last, pressing harder and faster, until she can't stand it, orgasm crashing over her like a wave, sending pulse after pulse of pleasure through her, rocking her body, amplified through her entire frame.

  


* * *

Jack has a cheerful gleam in his eye when he greets her outside the Hub, and Tosh can't help but blush, sure he knows what she did. He doesn't say anything, though, just holds her close, hand slung low around her hip as he cues the lift to descend.

"Did you have a good time?" he asks. "I love the Verterans -- such nice folks. Too bad so many people are frightened by them. Too many B movies, I say."

Tosh smiles. "I did," she says. "Their technology's amazing. It's too bad they don't share it."

Jack shrugs, a motion she can feel through their clothes. "Well, when you look like the Racnoss, or have an unfortunate resemblance to Daleks, through sheer happenstance of evolution, yeah, it can be hard to be out there engaging with other cultures."

"But they like it out there, so they keep on. And hey," He smiles down at her. "Meeting those people who _do_ appreciate you makes it all worthwhile, right?"

He winks at her, and Tosh blushes again, stepping away as the lift lands. The others are standing near the couch, faces a combination of chagrin and relief -- none of them had been willing to deal with the Verterans, but neither had they been willing to say so, Owen too embarrassed and the others too polite.

Tosh just smiles at them and continues to her station, for once not dwelling on Owen, because Jack _is_ right, it’s nice to be appreciated.


End file.
